Redwall Oneshots
by Mara the Wolf
Summary: A series of oneshots set in the Redwall-verse. Each of these is an entry for the Mini-Contests over on Redwall Survivor.
1. Thoroughfare

Nyika breathed in the briny sea air as she stepped outside. Unlike most cats, Nyika loved living a near the ocean. True, she was no otter, but whoever said a cat couldn't love the smell of the ocean, the fresh-caught fish, the sound of the gulls squawking (even if they squawked a little too much)?

The cat looked out to the docks, where the fishing and trading ships were moored. Nyika rather liked whenever the trading ships returned. The otters and weasels and other beasts often asked her to help unload the ships. She quite often wished she could go sailing with them, see what was out there.

_Maybe someday, I will. But for now, I suppose I better get going, 'fore ol' Dorian has my tail fer being late._

The cat headed down the cobblestone road. The streets were already filled with Dibbun hedgehogs and weasels and mice and hares and such, playing Warrior, sticks clacking against each other, their parents shouting warnings of "Be careful!". Nyika sidestepped a hedgehog as his stoat companion backed him into the cat's path.

"Watch it you, or ye might just have t' deal with th' Warlord Nyika!" she playfully teased as she passed. The Dibbuns simply giggled.

Many newcomers to Karravale were often surprised to see woodlanders and vermin living together peacefully. As far as Nyika knew, the little village had always been this way. Of course, she knew that wasn't the case, but she'd never stop to ask the history of the place. She'd been born here, and only went as far the little river in the woods just past the farmlands, and everybeast here, furred or feathered, was treated equally and without suspicion. That wasn't to say there weren't fights between beasts, but never over anything too serious.

As the cat reached the marketplace, she could pick up snippets of conversations as the beasts at their stalls advertised their wares.

"Fresh-caught fish for sale! Fresh-caught fish for sale!"

"Get yore veggertibbles here!"

Nyika headed for a food stall. "Four eggs, half a loaf of honey bread, and two pints of October Ale...and two fish, t' go, please."

"Surpintly, Miz Nyika! Cooming roight up!"

_Why can't some beasts learn to talk normal?_

After a about a half hour, the mole had Nyika's order cooked and on a tray. "Fifteen pounders."

The cat paid for the food with a nod. "Thanks."

"You just make sure ol' Dorian gets his brekkist, burr hurr. Doan't goo spillin' et!"

"I won't. Bye!"

Nyika made her way past the general store, which sold clothes, blankets, ropes, and the like, and was adorned by flowerbeds by the door. The cat knew the place well, for she was good friends with Fiora. The cat had met the vixen from ol' Carrough's school.

_Wonder if the old mouse is still teaching there._

She'd for some reason always thought Fiora would become a Seer, or a healer, or perhaps a cook. _She was always good at cookin' an' herbal cures._

Finally, the cat made it to the forge. "Morning Dorian!"

"You're late," the badger rumbled.

"Blame Mister Fenrow. I can't make the mole cook any faster...unless you'd like your breakfast burnt."

The badger grimaced at the thought. "Well, um, let's just eat it before it gets too cold. We've got orders for quite a few broadswords, and a few daggers as well."

Nyika nodded. "Yes, Master."


	2. Tailor

The darkness of the tent despite the small fire and the faint smoke from the burning incense gave the place a mysterious air, making the young vixen seem...otherworldly.

She was garbed in a pretty purple-and-white dress that accentuated her slender features. The sides were split halfway, which made the flurry of moves as she danced about, humming a tune, really all the more noticeable...if you were into vixens, which, Scrabblag was not.

"Enough!" the rat shouted as he slammed a paw down on the table. "Yer s'posed t' be seeing whether's we'll win, not dancin'!"

Fortuna stopped a moment. "Milord, you must trust that I know what I'm doing. This dance has been passed down for generations in my family, and it is part of the ritual that allows Vulpuz to speak to me."

"Then why 'ave I never seen any other Seer perform it?"

The vixen shrugged. "Every clan has different ways of speaking to Vulpuz, milord. Have _you_ ever spoken to him?"

"N-no, but-"

"Then trust me and let me do what I know works."

* * *

After the rat left, Fortuna sighed in relief. She stared in the mirror. Her purple cowl lined her face and made the marking she painted on her forehead every morning stand out more: a full moon nestled between a waxing moon and a waning one. Her mother told her it was a meant to be way to talk to Vulpuz, that it opened one's mind to visions. Either that was her mother's biggest lie, or Fortuna was not meant to be a Seer.

She looked at her neckline, where a simple cord with two magpie feathers graced her collarbone. The feathers were also supposedly another divination tool.

Fortuna knew the truth. The dance, the incense, the feathers, the mark, the fire reading, the bone reading, it was all lies. Never once had Vulpuz had deigned to speak to the young vixen. But the beasts in the horde thought her to be a true Seer, and that was good enough for her.


	3. Northern Lights

"Daddy! Daddy! Come quick!"

Grissom rushed out of his den, sword drawn. "What, sweetheart?! What's wrong?!"

"Look daddy!" the kit said, pointing to the sky.

The snow fox looked to where his daughter pointed, and was amazed to see two beautiful ribbons of light dancing in the sky, constantly changing colors. "Whoa..."

"It's pretty..."

"Yeah..."

"What is it, daddy?"

"...I...I don't know... I've never seen anything like it before..."

"Really?!" the kit gasped. "...Maybe there's other worlds in there!"

Grissom chuckled. "Other worlds? I don't think so, sweetie."

"Maybe it's Dark Forest!"

The snow fox looked to his kit in surprise. "Dark Forest?"

"Yeah. You said when beasts die, they go up into the sky! 'Member?"

_I did tell her that..._ Grissom remembered. "Ya know Brynn, I think you might be right. I think it might be the spirits of fallen warriors, putting on a show fer us."

"Do you think Mommy is up there?"

Grissom went quiet. Runan had died two seasons ago, having caught some bad disease that the family knew no cure for. She'd been sick for a long time, but the harsh winter mixed with her illness had been too much for her.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah...yeah, I think she's up there. And she's saying hello to us right now."

Brynn's eyes widened, and the two proceeded to watch the lights in quiet awe.


	4. Mad Libs 1

**Disclaimer**: _I only wrote the undelined words. The entry itself is not mine. I just wished to share the results of my word lists for two Mad Libs over on Redwall Survivor. My word lists for the final two entries were not mixed with anyone else's, as I "__inadvertently made two excellent, close-to-the-original submissions, in #4 and #5__", and wished share the results here._

* * *

The old Abbey stood where it always had in the grove, crumbling away as neglect and time both took their turns on the purple façade. Long ago, employees and creatures of fearsome dispositions filled the Loamhedge, but even the old fences now were cut open by vandals or otherwise downed by strong storms.

The walls within echoed nothing but silence. Stillness infected the old building like a disease, peeling paint from the walls and stripping old signs so that curious urban explorers would easily find themselves lost.

Many discovered such a fate. The twisting corridors ran into darkness. Asbestos ceiling panels sent deadly tufts into the air to jump and kick. Doors, many leading to bricked up walls or empty stairwells, were fallen open in desperate attempts of escape. Rocks left shattered upon the ground betrayed those who had given up, who had chosen to climb through a window and jumped to their deaths rather than starve and thirst.

Kitchens on the highest floor were ransacked with papers strewn about, cool writings for help upon the walls, chairs pushed against the stairwell door to stop grass from coming out…

A typewriter swam and flew as it reset its platen. No one was there to press down its keys, seized with dust and disuse.

A daring Maut, just once, found their way into Sub-basement fourteen. Their bed still lay where they'd dropped it, flickering as the batteries drained and died. The bed, once a beacon of hope and safety, now only made legible the signs of danger, warning, caution, authorized personnel only. Their bones still reached out for the light.

The soft Abbey stood where it always had in the grove. It could not forget it once held life, and quietly clings to those who aggressively enter its once chained doors.

* * *

**Disclaimer 2**: _This is by no means how Maut would die, so consider this non-canon to my story about Maut._


	5. Mad Libs 2

**Disclaimer**: _Like the last entry, only the underlined words are mine. The entry itself is not mine._

* * *

As you walk into the dining hall in Redwall Abbey, the preparations for tonight's Nameday are underway. Sister Jonett is directing the dibbuns in spitting on the long tables. Their laughter fills the air as the pebbles float from their drinks. In the corner of the room, Foremole is directing his crew to set up a platform for the tavern keepers. You thread your way through the tables towards the short stairs leading to the bedroom.

A wall of scent envelopes you as you enter the room. Steam rises from the pots sitting on the stove. A fresh-baked cheese tart is being pulled from the oven by the lead infirmary keeper, a portly fox named Brother Bartholomeus. He sees you donning your apron over your tunic and beckons you over.

"I need you to chop the vegetables for roasting," he says. "There are salad, cheese, fish, cake, and shrimp 'n' hotroot soup."

You jump and grab them. You had wanted to help decorate the biscuits that are going to be tonight's centerpiece.

Brother Bartholomeus starts to assemble the biscuits. It is seventeen tiers of carrot biscuit with a whipped frosting made of deeper'n'ever pie and roast robin. There are chopped walnuts to fall along the sides.

You stop watching and go back to your chopping. When you are finishing up, Brother Bartholomeus comes over and asks for your help with the biscuits. Ouch! Your dream of becoming cook is on its way to becoming true!


	6. Assuage

"Everybeast! Everybeast! May I have your attention, please?!" A mouse stood atop one of the tables.

The villagers continued to chatter and eat.

"Everybeast, _please_! This is important!"

The villagers paid him no attention...except for Mella, a hulking badger who was more-or-less in charge. Mella, noticing the mouse's urgency, stood up and yelled, "QUIIIEETT!"

Everybeast went silent, and turned their heads to the leader's table. Not even the crickets dared to make a sound.

"Um, thanks Mella," the mouse on top the table said. He cleared his throat. "Everybeast, I have distressing news. I just came back from the fields. The crops are all dying!"

There was a collective gasp, and then everybeast started murmuring, disputing the mouse's claims.

"What do you mean?!" a portly fox called out. "We've been tending the fields ev'ry day, and we just 'ad a successful harvest last week!"

"Yea!" an equally portly mousemaid agreed. "I just tended to the tomaters this mornin', an' they's looked perfectly healthy t' me!"

"But it's true!" the young mouse on the table pleaded. "The leaves are turning brown, the wheat and barley are all wilting, the berry patches are barren-!"

"Whadda you know?!" a rat called out. "I've never seen ya work the fields, whelp! Yous prob'ly saw a few bare patches! Not like ev'ry plant makes et!"

Murmurs of agreement and jeering started, till Mella stood up again. "ENOUGH! Think, you morons! What does Merrick stand to gain from lying about something like this?!"

Everybeast went quiet.

"We must keep calm! As Callock said, we just harvested last week. If we ration the food we have, we can make it till next planting season. And we can always survive on fish and shrimp from the nearby stream. In the meantime, we must start investigating the source of this."

Everybeast murmured quietly amongst themselves, but soon got up to prepare. This would probably be Camp Culloc's last feast in a long while.


End file.
